


The Lowdown

by flinchflower



Series: Slash Me Twice [52]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Discipline, M/M, Paddle, Psychic Abilities, Spanking, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-17
Updated: 2011-12-17
Packaged: 2017-10-27 10:47:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/294973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flinchflower/pseuds/flinchflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt 52: Low.  Dean’s fed up with waiting for Sam’s confession.  Continues desert arc.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lowdown

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Not for profit, simply a writing exercise. Herein lies Dean/Sam slash, in an AU timeline where John did not lose his life. John appears in parental context only. Follows in series from previous prompts, but stands alone if preferred.

“Sam, talk to me already.” Dean’s frustration is mounting with frightening rapidity. They’d crawled out into the dim morning light to share a quick breakfast with John, before the older man went off to confer with Ted again. Every word that has left Sam’s mouth since then has been coy and evasive at best. “Dammit, Sam.”

Sam simply sighs. “It’s not easy, Dean.”

Dean practically snarls. It’s been three days since John asked him to get to the bottom of what’s bugging Sammy, and he’s lost count of how long since he started trying on his own, hoping to take care of whatever was eating at Sam before their father noticed, not that that worked.

“You better start trying, Sammy.”

“I… Dean… look, why don’t we talk after supper?”

“I don’t fucking think so. You’ve been putting this off for days, and I say it happens now.”

“Whatever.” Sam turns his back. Dean represses the urge to howl with frustration. That’s it. He ducks in the tent, rummages around in his pack. The extra fucking weight’s a pain to be packing around, but something had told him he’d need it. He hefts the small paddle in his hand. Not very large, but the dense oak packs a hard wallop. _I’m done with waiting_ , he thinks, _too fucking dangerous in this family, not that Sam listens to me when I tell him that_. He snorts, seeing that Sam’s turned his back. Strolling casually over, he finds a seat on the handy boulder that Sam’s leaning against, paddle tucked away and hidden in his back pocket.

“Last chance, Sam.” His voice holds no room for debate, no leeway left.

“Fuck off,” is Sam’s predictable reply of choice, and the boy rises from the ground. Dean simply waits, watching for the point where the kid is most off balance, and then grabs him, throws Sam across his knees. Sam’s wearing sweatpants, and it makes Dean want to chuckle.

“Settle down, Sammy,” he warns, as the boy begins to struggle and cuss. Dean’s got the advantage, though, and pins the younger man without an issue. He leans on Sam’s back with his right arm, pulls the paddle out of his pocket with his left, and shoves it in front of Sam’s nose.

“Sam, last chance, buddy. You can fess up right here, or we can take care of this the other way.” He switches the paddle to his right hand, and steels himself.

“Let me the fuck up. Fine. I’ll talk to you.” If Dean isn’t kidding himself, there’s a hint of fear in Sam’s voice. Not good, though, that he’s trying to hide it.

“You lost that chance, kiddo. You can start talking right here, and if I’m satisfied, maybe I’ll let you continue face to face. Otherwise…” He lets the word trail off ominously, and sweeps Sam’s sweatpants and boxers off, leaving his target area bare. Sam’s gonna get burned one way or the other, whether it’s a sunburn from the hot noon sun shining down on his naked butt as he talks, or from Dean’s paddle. Either way, whatever it is that’s eating at the kid is going to be exposed. He can still see the faint marks from the frequent spankings that John’s given him, hating that he’s gonna add to it, but Sam hasn’t left him a choice.

“DEAN!” Sam wiggles, outraged. His struggles are completely ineffective.

“One,” comes the stern reply.

“Dean just let me the hell up! Maybe I’m not ready to talk about this!”

“Two.”

“Cut it out, Dean! I’m gonna tell Dad!”

“Three.” Dean thinks to himself that John would’ve had Sam in this position days ago, and maybe things would go better with the kid if he emulated their father a little more. Sam continues struggling after the number falls into the silent air, and Dean brings the paddle down sharply.

“AUGH! Dean, all RIGHT! I’ll talk to you!”

Dean doesn’t hesitate. The paddle smacks down over and over again as the older man counts slowly up to twelve. Standard Winchester penance for making someone count. He’s not paddling particularly hard, but putting enough into it that Sam’s got to be feeling the burn. The silence after the first couple swats has him wondering, though. He rests the paddle on the flushed bottom stretched out over his lap.

“Ready to talk now?”

“It’s complicated,” Sam whines, and Dean paddles him again.

“Uncomplicate it.”

“I’d think better sitting up,” comes the slightly hopeful reply, and Dean answers with a matched pair of wallops, two on each cheek.

“Start talking, Sam, before I remember how to swing harder than I have been.”

Sam squirms through a moment of silence until Dean raises the paddle again. “It’s about the visions.”

Okay. Now they’re getting somewhere. Though Sam’s not gonna sit comfortable for a while, because Dean knows how these discussions go, knows that the previous swat won’t be the last one.

“What about the visions.”

“I told you it’s complicated.” Sam makes the mistake of sounding sulky again, and then yelps as Dean gives him the first of what promises to be a whole slew of corrections. The paddle stings at first, and then leaves a slow burn behind, and Sam drops his head a little. “I need more help.”

“And you’ve been sitting on that info for how many days? Sam, tell me why I shouldn’t beat your ass for that alone!” He punctuates his statement with a pair of emphatic smacks.

“I was trying to figure out what I needed!” He winces as he says it, and Dean lays the paddle on his backside, not a swat, but the contact of the wood is a painful promise on the burning cheeks. “I… I think I might have figured something out, and when we came out here I wanted to take some time, Dean, please, let me up!”

“I told you, you tossed that chance a while back, Sammy. Keep going. One more word about getting up, and I’ll give you the standard again, kiddo.”

“Dean…” He squirms uncomfortably, and Dean relaxes his hold a little, allowing the boy a little more leeway. HE responds the way Dean hoped he would, takes a deep breath, best he can. “Dean, I’m SCARED.”

 _What?_ “Scared of what, Sam? Scared that I’m gonna beat your ass, or about the visions?”

“Both?” The reply is one hundred percent young Sam, and Dean bites back a smile, gives him a light slap with the paddle, one without any sting to it.

“Get moving, Sam.”

“You’re not gonna be happy.”

“Neither are you if you don’t quit beating around the bush.” This time the swat’s hard enough to leave a white blaze on Sam’s reddened behind, one that slowly fades to red. A pained wiggle earns him another lighter one, and he still hasn’t continued.

“I can’t- no wait,” he cries, as Dean raises the paddle for another serious strike. “I can’t do this on my own, Dean, and I’m scared – it keeps distracting me and I’m afraid to hunt and that I’m gonna get distracted and get you and dad killed and I can’t ask you to stop hunting and I don’t know what to do and please don’t spank me any more!”

“Is that all?” Dean knows better. He’s glad for the rush of confession, but he knows his brother well enough to suss out that there’s more that Sam isn’t telling him.

“I need to find some more help, Dean.”

“Dad and I can help you do that.”

“I know, I just…”

“You just what.” Again, he rests the paddle on Sam’s crimson behind.

“I need to be somewhere safe to do it. Somewhere there’s not a lot of activity. Not near a hunt. And I need you and Dad. The hunting…” Sam trails off, not sure how to continue.

Dean can hear at least part of what’s being left unsaid. He lets up the pressure on Sam’s back, cautioning the boy to stay put or else. His now free hand strokes comforting patterns, pausing to trace the protective knotwork of Sam’s tattoo, thinking about what he wants to say.

“Sam.” His voice is gentle. “You’re the most important thing to me, this family is the most important thing to Dad. If we need to take some downtime, throw some hunts over to some of the other hunters, we can do that. We’ve done as much for Caleb and some of the others – and don’t think that all the injuries were physical with those guys, either.”

Sam’s breath hitches. “I… really? You’d do that – not hunt – Dean, I-“

“Shh. In a heartbeat, baby brother.” He sits, massaging Sam’s back until he feels the taut muscles relax somewhat. “Now, why don’t you spill the rest of it, kid.” His other hand comes to rest on Sam’s backside.

“Could you maybe let me up for that?”

Dean picks up the paddle again. “What did I tell you I’d do if you asked one more time?”

“PLEASE! I want you to… I…”

“What is it, Sam.” His voice is gentle.

“I… I want to be able to look at you. It’s just a theory, I’m not sure.”

Dean sighs, debating. “All right. You sit on my lap, little boy, and the pants stay down. Don’t think that I won’t pick up that paddle again if you’re bullshitting me.” It takes a minute to get the kid adjusted, and Dean hopes it won’t take long. Sam sitting in his lap when they’re on a bed or a couch is a little different from the hard-ass rock they’re currently perched on. He’s glad when Sam starts out without any prompting.

“I’ve been getting some different flashes, since what Jim and Missouri worked with me. I… I had to try and focus on them, and I couldn’t until we were somewhere safe. The reservation, it’s sacred ground –“

“I know that, Sam.”

“I think I’m picking up something from the demon.”

The words drop like a bomb into the silence, and his arms tighten around Sam involuntarily.

“Sam…” His voice is harsh and choked.

“I only tried the once, Dean. I need more training, I don’t dare try and find out more until then, at least, I don’t think.”

Dean’s heart is racing. He’s repressing his own trembling, all he wants to do is throw Sam in the car, find John, and go to ground, find somewhere safe. The only thing that stops him is Sam’s reminder that they ARE safe, on the sacred ground of the reservation. He still feels exposed, out here in the desert, not knowing where John is.

“Don’t you dare try anything until we figure something out. We’ve got to talk about this with Dad-“ Sam’s sitting in his lap, so Dean doesn’t miss the flinch that the kid tries to repress. He hardens his voice into a semblance of stern. “Dad’s gonna want to keep you safe, Sam, just like I do – after he finishes here, we figure out what to do for you.”

“Promise?”

“Promise. And if you ever fucking dare to hide something like this again, I’ll beat you myself and then hand you over to Dad for him to finish the job, you understand me?” Dean’s frustration boils back over his fear, tinged with anger that his baby brother has to be the one to cope with this, and he punctuates his sentence with a swat to Sam’s still bare backside.

Sam winces and turns into him, putting his arms around Dean, burying his face in Dean’s neck. “I’m sorry, Dean. I was… I…”

“I know. Just – just LISTEN to me, Sam, and try listening to Dad while you’re at it. We’ll figure this thing out.”

Sam nods, and they both just sit and breathe, the reality of all the words hanging about them in the wavering air, heavy and oppressive. A hawk screams overhead, and Dean’s head comes up, watching it circle, glide toward them. He’s pretty sure he hears footsteps, and he slides Sam’s clothing back in place, wanting to give the boy some privacy.

“You’re not going to spank me any more?”

Dean snorts. “Do you need another spanking? Not hard to arrange if you do, buddy.” He slides the paddle back into his pocket, now sure he can hear someone. Sam’s silence isn’t surprising. He leans forward a little, and Sam looks up.

“Is that…”

They can both see the shimmering figure of the old woman on the horizon, and then it’s broken moments later as John rounds the corner. He raises his eyebrows, taking in the serious faces of his boys, the fact that Sam’s face is tear streaked and Dean’s is carrying the tension of concern. He raises a hand when Sam moves to leave Dean’s lap.

“No, stay right there, son. Now give me the lowdown.”

**Author's Note:**

> Music: Blues Traveller - Just Wait


End file.
